Chapter 45
The car glided smoothly along the winding road, leaving Willow Creek far behind. The further they drove, the more unfamiliar the surroundings became—open pastures giving way to dense clusters of trees, the sleepy town she had known all her life fading in the rearview mirror.
Isla sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her arms folded tightly across her chest, suspicion curling in her stomach.
Where were they going?
She had asked again and again, but Graham hadn’t answered.
Not once.
His hands gripped the wheel, knuckles flexing, his jaw locked in silent determination. There was no smirk, no usual glint of amusement in his sharp gaze. He was focused. On what, she didn’t know. And that made her nervous.
She shifted in her seat, glancing at him warily.
“Graham,” she tried again, forcing her voice to remain even, though her fingers clenched at the fabric of her dress. “Where are we going?”
Still, nothing.
He didn’t even acknowledge her.
The unease in her chest deepened. Graham was never chatty, but this level of silence? This complete disregard of her? It wasn’t like him.
She inhaled sharply, twisting toward him. “Graham, for God’s sake, just tell me—”
The car jerked slightly as he turned into a parking lot, and Isla’s stomach dropped when she caught sight of the large white building in front of them.
The Lansbury County Courthouse.
She blinked in confusion.
Why were they here?
She tore her gaze from the building, turning wide, questioning eyes to him, but Graham had already killed the engine.
The second the car came to a stop, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out.
“What—” Her voice faltered as she scrambled to do the same, but he was already moving. Already rounding the car to her side.
She barely had time to react before he opened her door and extended a hand.
“Out.” His voice was smooth, controlled.
Her fingers clenched around the edge of her seat.
“What is this?” Her voice was hushed, wary.
Graham didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned down, his towering frame caging her in, his broad shoulders blocking out everything but him.
The scent of his cologne, that intoxicating mix of spice and something purely him, wrapped around her like a snare. Her pulse stuttered.
“Isla,” he murmured, his voice low, quiet—but laced with an unmistakable warning. “Don’t make me carry you.”
Her breath hitched.
The way he said it, the slow, deadly promise in his tone, sent a shiver down her spine. Damn him.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her body betraying her, heat curling deep in her stomach.
With a scowl, she pushed herself out of the car, her legs unsteady beneath her. Graham shut the door behind her and—without another word—placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the courthouse doors.
Isla’s heart pounded louder with every step.
What the hell was going on?
She searched his face, desperate for some kind of explanation, but his expression remained stoic, unreadable.
The moment they stepped inside, the cool air of the courthouse wrapped around her, the scent of old paper and polished floors filling her nose.
Still, no answers.
She followed him blindly, her mind spinning, until they stopped at a counter where a middle-aged man sat behind a desk, shuffling through a stack of forms.
Graham barely gave her a second glance before speaking.
“Marriage license, please.”
Isla’s world tilted.
Her breath caught in her throat, her entire body locking up.
What?
The clerk, barely looking up, retrieved a stack of paperwork and slid it across the counter. “Both signatures at the bottom,” he said in a monotone. “I’ll need valid identification from both of you, a sixty-dollar fee, and there’s a seventy-two-hour waiting period before the license is valid. Any questions?”
Isla couldn’t move.
Her pulse roared in her ears, her hands trembling at her sides.
No. No, no, no.
This wasn’t happening.
She turned to Graham sharply, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Her voice came out in a strangled whisper. “What—”
But before she could even finish, he picked up a pen.
Calm. Unshaken. As if he had just ordered coffee, not requested a damn marriage license.
Her stomach dropped.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Because Graham Lancaster was serious.
And Isla had just walked into a trap.
Isla’s breath hitched, a mix of disbelief and mounting panic flooding her chest. “Graham, what are you doing?” she demanded, her voice trembling as she stared into his cold, unblinking eyes. The audacity of the moment was suffocating, and yet, it felt so surreal. This couldn’t be real. This couldn't possibly be happening. But there she was, helpless, as he dragged her toward an empty bench outside, his grip on her arm unyielding, his face locked in an expression of supreme confidence.
Without a single word, Graham took a seat, pulling her down beside him with little regard for her protest. He was already scribbling on the marriage application form, his pen moving quickly, as if he had done this a thousand times before—like it was the most normal thing in the world. His focus on the task was relentless, as though Isla’s presence was nothing more than a distraction, an annoyance to be dealt with before the paperwork was finished.
“GRAHAM!” she finally shrieked, the words bursting out of her, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She couldn’t believe what was happening. She couldn’t believe he was the one to bring her here. The nerve. The absolute arrogance.
From across the room, the sound of an elderly woman’s disapproving tut echoed in the air. She looked at Isla, her expression a mixture of annoyance and judgment. But Isla barely noticed. All her focus was on Graham, who didn’t even glance up at her outburst. His eyes remained fixed on the form in his hands, his pen continuing its steady dance across the paper.
Isla’s mind spun, the weight of the situation sinking in deeper. He’d brought her here to apply for a marriage certificate. To make her a part of his life, his property. His arrogance oozed from every pore, and Isla felt trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape from. How could he do this to her? How could he just decide something like this, without even asking?
She swallowed hard, her chest tightening. “What are you doing?” she hissed again, but Graham didn’t even acknowledge her. His silence was more deafening than any response he could give. He was so certain of his control over her that it was almost suffocating. She could feel her hands trembling as she looked at the form, then back at him. “You can’t do this! I won’t sign it!”
And then, as though her frustration wasn’t enough, he spoke—his voice low, the tone a commanding whisper that sent chills down her spine. “Yes, you WILL,” he hissed, his breath hot against her ear. The words were wrapped in an undeniable finality, a promise of something far worse if she dared to oppose him. The force behind his voice made her entire body tense.
“You WILL sign it, Isla,” he continued, his lips barely brushing against her ear as his grip on the pen tightened. “Or I’ll drag you to the nearest bathroom and finish what I started last night. That silk blouse you’re wearing?” He paused for a beat, letting the words settle like a heavy weight. “It’s just as easy to tear off as that nightgown was.”
Graham’s voice was low, a dark, velvety rumble that seemed to vibrate through her very bones as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. His words were deliberate, each one dripping with a dangerous mix of arrogance and desire, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “Sign it,” he commanded, his tone firm yet laced with a simmering intensity that made her pulse race.
His hand still gripped her wrist, his fingers strong and unyielding, a silent reminder of his dominance. But it wasn’t just his physical hold on her that left her trembling—it was the way his words wrapped around her, pulling her into a world where resistance felt futile.
“Because when I finally take you,” he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “when you’re beneath me, writhing and gasping, screaming my name as you come undone, it will be in my bed. As my bride.” His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, the contact sending a shiver down her spine. “And it will be our wedding night.”